


all my nights taste like gold

by halcyonlight



Category: RWBY
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Post-Volume 6 (RWBY), lots of fluff, the gang goes to atlas!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2019-12-25 15:16:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18263963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyonlight/pseuds/halcyonlight
Summary: They do need to talk, they definitely do, about roughly a million things; about those long moments by the waterfall, their hair damp with sea spray. About their sidelong glances in the airship. About the way their hands lock together automatically now whenever there’s any slight sign of uncertainty, about the first night in Atlas when they fell asleep side by side on the couch, Blake’s head resting gently on Yang’s shoulder. Tension coils in Yang's stomach.They have all the time in the world to talk.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> my contribution to the esteemed "atlas fic" genre!  
> just so y'all know, this is going to be several chapters of STRAIGHT-UP BUMBLEBY FLUFF and will also absolutely live up to the M rating. i don't have it in me to craft a rwby-style plot; it's all bumbleby all the time over here. hope you enjoy :)

In hindsight, maybe a night out at one of Atlas’s most exclusive clubs hadn’t been such a bad idea.

“I’m not going to a place that _Weiss_ recommends,” Yang had complained as they trudged down the street, hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans, freezing wind whipping blonde hair into her face. “The point of tonight is to de-stress. Now we’re gonna be stuck ballroom dancing while waiters pass out olive martinis.”

“Hey!” Weiss had snapped, swinging her ponytail. “No one’s forcing you to come along, especially if you’re going to be condescending all evening.”

“I think a club sounds fun,” Ruby, who’d never been to a club in her life, had chirped good-naturedly.

Yang had shot a sidelong glance in Blake’s direction; with a jolt of surprise, she’d realized Blake was already watching her. Quickly, they’d both looked away.

Now they’re standing in the middle of a darkened room, music pounding, lights sparkling and flashing in neon pinks and greens, glasses of champagne in hand, and Yang’s wondering why she ever had a single doubt.

Blake had dropped her jacket off at coat check - the fancy new fur-lined one she’d bought on their first day in Atlas - and Yang _knows_ she’s staring, she knows it’s obvious, otherwise Weiss wouldn’t have dragged Ruby away with a roll of her eyes. Everything feels predestined, stars aligning, constellations clicking into place. Blake’s arms are bare and her jet black hair hangs loose around her shoulders.

“At some point,” she yells over the music, leaning so close that her lips brush Yang’s hair. “We should talk.”

Yang widens her eyes in faux innocence. “You and me? Talk about what?”

Blake smirks, and the flush spreading across Yang’s face is instantaneous. “Look,” she says, each word slurring and tumbling into the next. “Tonight isn’t the time.”

Yang’s throat is dry. They _do_ need to talk, they definitely do, about roughly a million things; about those long moments by the waterfall, their hair damp with sea spray. About their sidelong glances in the airship. About the way their hands lock together automatically now whenever there’s any slight sign of uncertainty, about the first night in Atlas when they fell asleep side by side on the couch, Blake’s head resting gently on Yang’s shoulder. Tension coils in her stomach. 

They have all the time in the world to talk.

 _Damn_ , Yang thinks, eyes flickering over Blake again, drinking her in. The shirt she’d worn underneath her coat is totally inappropriate for Atlas weather: a silvery-black tank top, not low-cut but just revealing enough to show off the sharpness of her delicate collarbones, the faintest suggestion of cleavage. This would all be a whole lot easier if she’d kept the coat on. Or if they hadn’t each downed about four glasses of champagne in the past hour. They’re both holding their fifth glass, Blake’s fingers curved elegantly around the flute. That’s what Yang’s focusing on when Blake takes a step closer.

Her hips rock in time to the music and Yang swallows hard, matching the rhythm as best she can. People press around them, no one looking closely enough to be of any concern. 

“Blake,” Yang says, but it’s lost in the pounding of the music, and so she leans closer, pressing her chest against Blake’s. Surely she’ll hear her heart cracking her ribcage. “Blake. I want...”

Blake’s eyes, warm gold with pupils darker than midnight, snap up to Yang’s face. There’s something there that Yang doesn’t quite recognize: it’s still Blake, it’s her, but there’s a determination reminiscent of battle, a confidence that suddenly sends a chill skittering down her spine. She loves Blake always - _loves?_ Did she really just think that? - but lately, she’s used to seeing her vulnerability. This is different. This is...

“Yang,” Blake says, and her voice is low as her hand strokes the back of Yang’s neck, their foreheads pressing together gently. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Yang swallows again, following Blake’s motions with her eyes: she slides her hands down over Yang’s shoulders, over her arms, twining their fingers together. She pulls her prosthetic hand to her lips and presses a kiss against her knuckles, eyes never leaving Yang’s.

“Maybe - maybe we’re too drunk for this,” Yang says, taking a shuddering breath.

One of Blake’s ears twitches, immediately in tune with Yang’s feelings, even the slightest shift. “Do you want to go get some water? Go back to the house?”

“No, no,” Yang blurts out. Her hands find Blake’s hips, stroking the bare skin with her thumbs, and is rewarded by Blake’s sharp gasp. “Nothing like that.”

“Okay.” Blake knocks back the rest of her champagne and gives Yang a look that’s absolutely wicked. “Come with me, then.”

She takes Yang by the hand and winds her through the never-ending tangle of people dancing and Yang follows her carefully, squeezing her hand; she’d follow her anywhere. There’s a lounge area off to the side, a bunch of glossy leather chairs clustered around a wood-burning fireplace. The rest of the club patrons are completely ignoring it in favor of dancing, and Yang feels a thrill at the idea of being invisible, of not having to look over her shoulder.

Then Blake pushes her gently down into one of the leather armchairs, and every thought completely evaporates from her mind.

The music is just as loud over here, sultry, almost; Yang tilts her head up, golden hair spilling down her back, and she knows she must look almost hungry with desperation. Blake’s so fucking _gorgeous_ , all shimmering confidence and sex appeal, lashes like smoke against her cheeks; she tosses her hair back and then walks toward Yang with a swing of her narrow hips Yang’s never seen before. She leans forward, hands on Yang’s denim-clad knees, looking her dead in the eye.

“You’re beautiful,” Blake says, voice dripping with something like desire. Yang stares at her in wonder - she never expected this, _never_. “I mean it. I-I always thought you…”

She breaks off, confidence faltering for the briefest of moments, and Yang smiles shakily to encourage her.

“I always thought you were beautiful too,” she says, quieter. “Kiss me.”

Yang almost says more: she’s never kissed anyone before, barely even wanted to, she was always so distracted by family and school and training, and now she’s seriously regretting the lack of practice because what if Blake hates kissing her, what if she’s bad at it? _I can’t be bad at it,_ she thinks, shaking her head, and before she can put any of that into words, Blake’s lips meet hers.

The kiss is slow, feather-light, the way Yang imagines you kiss someone when you love them. _Please_ , Yang thinks, almost a prayer, a plea. _Please let her love me._

Blake pulls back and Yang stares up at her in wonder. _Did I dream that? Did that actually just happen?_ She’s still trying to figure it out when Blake climbs onto her lap, one leg slotting on either side of her hips, and suddenly she’s _everywhere_ , warm and breathing heavy and smelling like freesia and moonlight and sparkling gold champagne. Yang can’t exactly remember how to breathe. Blake’s arms twine around her shoulders and she rocks her hips just like on the dance floor, steady and slow to the beat of the music.

“Holy shit,” Yang lets out on an exhale.

Blake’s lips quirk into a smile and she presses closer until their chests are flush against each other, grinding down harder. Their lips brush, just light enough to leave Yang desperate enough to cry.

“You want me,” Blake says, and it’s not a question.

“Baby,” Yang breathes, eyes fluttering closed. “I’ve wanted you forever.”

They crash together, a deeper kiss this time, Blake’s tongue sweeping across Yang’s lips with expert precision; she parts them, and thank god she’s sitting down, because finally tasting Blake is hot enough it could’ve brought her to her knees. She moans into the kiss and hears Blake’s inhale, feels her hips grinding down harder, her fingers twining through Yang’s hair and pulling just gently. 

“Harder,” Yang says without realizing she’s speaking, breathing into Blake’s mouth, and Blake pulls, eliciting another moan. She arches back against the chair and Blake trails her lips down Yang’s neck, sucking at her pulse point, teeth dragging against the edges of her collarbone. 

Yang’s hands dig into Blake’s lower back, sliding under the waistband of her jeans. Blake sighs against her skin. Encouraged, Yang scrapes her nails, drags them up and down, leaving marks, and the sighs turn into moans, higher than she expected; the sound sends heat pooling between her legs. Blake leans backward, catching her breath, and Yang just stares - there’s never been anyone more beautiful, never, ever in the history of time.

When Blake looks back down at Yang, she meets her gaze evenly, smiling slow and confident like the sunrise. 

“I think we should go,” Yang says.

Blake raises her eyebrows. “Do you want to talk?”

Yang lifts her up easily, hands digging into her ass, and Blake’s legs wrap around Yang’s hips automatically, arms locking around her shoulders. She laughs into Yang’s hair. “I’m guessing that’s a no.”

“I do want to talk to you,” Yang says, casually carrying her toward the exit, ignoring people’s stares. “But we’ve got a couple more important things to do first.”

*

They get home, somehow - honestly, Yang can’t exactly remember how, but she remembers laughing against the wind so cold it feels like knives, fingers twining together to keep warm. The front door slams and they’re in the foyer, snowflakes melting in Blake’s dark hair, and Yang knows every single emotion she feels is written plainly on her face.

The place where they’re staying is a semi-furnished townhouse, tucked in a safe location where they can rest until Winter finds them better accommodations. Over the past few days, Yang’s been furious with her, frustrated that they’re being told to sit down and shut up like stupid kids; tonight, she can’t summon the energy to care. Yang remembers convincing Blake to drink a glass of water in the kitchen, both of them giggling, shoulders bumping together, and then they’re falling asleep on the sitting room floor in front of the fireplace.

Neither one of them remembers to close the curtains.

Yang wakes up slow, sunlight already cutting through her eyelids like the edge of a dagger. Her brain feels like it’s fighting its way out of her skull. And to make matters worse, somebody is absolutely _shrieking_ in the kitchen.

“...and there they were! Just sprawled out on the floor, no blankets or anything!” It’s Nora, squealing with laughter. “They must have been _freezing_ to death!”

“The fire was going though, right?” Ruby asks, and holy shit, Yang loves her sister, but her voice is absolutely excruciating to hear when you’re hungover. She clamps her hands over her ears, rolling onto her side. 

Oh fuck. There’s Blake. 

Yang freezes, staring at her sleeping form with wide eyes. She’s curled cat-like on her side, hands pillowed under her head and breathing deeply. Somehow, her hair managed to stay infuriatingly perfect. It streams over her shoulder in a silky black curtain, the ends just skimming the rug. There’s a slight pink flush to her cheeks. All Yang wants to do is reach out to her and… and do what? Press her lips to Blake’s forehead. Smooth a hand through her hair.

 _She kissed me,_ Yang tells herself, like she needs the reminder. Her smile comes automatically.

“Well, they were irresponsible,” Weiss says, and her prissy voice cuts through Yang’s reverie. “They abandoned their teammates last night! And they’re physically fine, they’ll just have to… well, sleep it off, I guess.”

“Abandoned their teammates,” Jaune repeats, laughing. Yang closes her eyes. _Great, let’s get more people involved in this._

“Weiss, I know you’re upset,” Ren says calmly. Oh, so everyone’s here. “But they didn’t abandon you on a mission. It was just a night out, and they’ve been through a lot recently.”

“A _lot_ ,” Nora emphasizes. “Guys, let’s get outta here - they probably won’t want all of us here when they wake up. Ruby, Weiss, let them know they can have some pancakes, though! Yang will probably want the chocolate chip ones! And Blake will want-”

There’s a scuffle by the doorway; it sounds like Nora’s been pushed out into the cold. Her chattering is muffled, and finally the door slams, the sound reverberating through Yang’s skull.

“Ren and Nora are right, y’know,” Ruby says to Weiss, more serious now. “What they went through… I still don’t totally understand it.”

Weiss sighs, but it’s not exasperated, just weary. “It’s between Blake and Yang, Ruby. I don’t think we’ll ever understand how terrible that experience was for them.”

There’s a pause, footsteps retreating down the hall, toward the staircase. 

“They should sleep,” Weiss continues, voice softer now. “Let’s come back to check on them later.”

Relieved to hear she’ll have some momentary peace and quiet, Yang slowly opens her eyes… and immediately freezes. Blake’s awake and watching her with amused golden eyes. 

“Oh,” Yang says, without realizing she’s speaking. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Blake presses her lips into a soft smile. Her voice is still scratchy from sleep -- and honestly, probably borderline dehydration. 

“So… sleeping on the floor. Probably not one of our better life decisions.”

“That’s the least of my problems,” Blake says, pulling herself up gingerly into a seated position. She rubs at her eyes. “Ugh. Do you feel awful too?”

“I feel like someone ran me over with a truck, then fed me to an Ursa, then tossed whatever was left out of an airship.”

“That’s… awfully specific.” Blake smiles wider, pushing her bangs off her face; something glitters in her eyes and Yang knows. She _knows_. They both remember. “Did you hear everyone in the hallway?”

“Uh, yeah. It sounded like a fuckin’ stampede.” Yang runs her fingers through the tangles of her hair, working out a particularly stubborn knot. “Guess we should probably get some water, huh?”

Blake’s already getting up, graceful even when hungover, wearing yesterday’s clothes and shadows of smudged eyeliner. “I’ll get it for you. One sec.”

Yang stares after her, listening to the sound of her bare feet padding across the kitchen floor. She’s rummaging in a cabinet, switching on the tap. By now Yang is totally awake, and with her increased awareness comes a nagging feeling of dread. _Last night was a mistake,_ Blake will probably say. _I was drunk, I didn’t know what I was doing. We’re teammates. Emotions running high. Let’s forget about it._

Forget about it. Yang realizes she’s making a fist with her hand, digging her nails into her palm so hard they leave half-moon marks behind. She relaxes just as Blake enters the room, a tall, clear glass in one hand. Her hips sway a little when she walks, but nothing like last night.

God. Yang swallows hard. _First rule for the day: don’t think about last night._

Blake kneels in front of Yang and hands her the glass. Then she unfolds her closed fist, revealing two white pills. “For your headache,” she says, meeting Yang’s eyes and grinning. “I just assumed.”

“You assumed right.” Yang returns the smile, trying to ignore the scalding heat that floods her cheeks as her fingertips brush Blake’s palm. She knocks back the pain pills quickly, a good distraction. This is ridiculous. They were kissing twelve hours ago, and now she’s too nervous to even touch her hand?

Blake’s eyelashes flutter, dark butterfly wings, and she bites her lower lip as she settles on the floor by the fire. Her knees are pulled up to her chest. _This is it_ , Yang thinks.

“Yang…” Blake swallows audibly. Her golden eyes stray downward; she fidgets with the hem of her black jeans. “I… I wanted to apologize.”

Okay, that’s a _little_ off-script, but not totally unexpected. Yang sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “I-I figured you would.”

Blake winces. She looks up at Yang carefully, under her eyelashes. “I honestly don’t know what happened to me. Well, I guess I do -- how many glasses of champagne did I drink?”

“I think five.”

“Wow.” Blake cringes, ears flattening against her dark hair. “And they were pretty big glasses, too. Not that -- that’s not an excuse, obviously. I shouldn’t have drank that much, and I shouldn’t have assumed that you w-- I mean, it wasn’t a good idea to -- well, in the future -- not that there’s going to be a future necessarily…”

“Blake,” Yang says, and now she can’t help but smile because Blake’s just so fucking adorable. “I appreciate what you’re trying to say, I think? But it’d help if you said it in English.”

She runs a hand through her hair, finally meeting Yang’s eyes. “Okay. Um, what I did was - inappropriate, Yang, and I’m really sorry. I promise that I - I won’t do it again.”

“Wait, what?”

Blake’s cheeks are flaming red now. “I won’t, um, act like that around you again.”

Oh. _Oh._ Whoops.

“Uh, Blake...” Yang starts, and before she can stop it, she bursts out laughing.

Blake’s eyes widen, liquid amber; she shrinks into herself, spine curving, chin resting on her knee. She watches Yang with something close to fear. 

Yang shakes her head, trying to get control of herself. Something about Blake’s nervousness bolsters her, allows her to lean forward and wrap her arms around the other girl’s shoulders. 

“Baby,” Yang whispers, and the effect is immediate: Blake melts into Yang’s arms, tension releasing all down her limbs. Her head presses gently against Yang’s shoulder. 

Now that she’s sober, it’s almost too overwhelming to have Blake this close. There’s the smell of her shampoo, her skin, something like sandalwood and vanilla and a cool summer night. If Yang concentrates, she can catch traces of freesia perfume she’d worn last night, and it makes her stomach muscles clench.

Her hands skim along Blake’s back, the notches of her spine. “Don’t apologize,” she says. She’s never heard her own voice like this before -- it’s almost jarring, the softness. She wonders if Blake picks up on it too. “I… I wanted… I mean, everything was… you were…”

“Now who can’t speak?” Blake mutters against her shoulder, and Yang laughs, a low rumble in her throat. They’re inching closer to something now. Blake relaxes incrementally, hesitant arms reaching around Yang’s waist, high enough that it could be construed as a hug you’d give a friend. 

Yang decides to throw tact out the window. “It was really hot.”

Blake’s muscles tense and she makes some kind of strangled laughing sound. “It… okay. I guess that’s… that’s… well, I don’t know what to say to that.”

“I don’t either,” Yang laughs, squeezing her tight, pulling her in close. “But I’m being totally honest. So god, please don’t _apologize_ for that. Oh my god. Maybe we can make it, like, a nightly event.”

Blake really laughs at that, finally leaning back and lifting her head to look Yang in the eye. “I’m never getting that drunk _ever_ again. I want you to know that.”

“Okay, we’ll forget about the drinking part for now. But the, um…” Yang’s mouth goes dry and she licks her lips. She doesn’t miss that Blake’s eyes track the movement of her tongue. “The kissing part was… something that we could, like… do again. If you wanted.”

“Okay,” Blake says through a shy laugh, ears flicking up. “I’d be good with that.”

Again, Yang thinks of blurting it out: _you were my first kiss ever, and that means I’ll never forget you._ But she doesn’t. That’s way too much, and who knows if it’s even true? It’s the first person you _sleep_ with who you never forget, probably. And plus, the idea of her ever forgetting Blake is laughable. 

“We can still have a conversation, though.” Yang brushes a loose strand of black hair from Blake’s forehead; her eyes soften, molten gold. “Like, I think that we should definitely, definitely talk about everything.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Blake exhales slowly, and that’s when Yang realizes how close they actually are to each other. Her hands are loose on Blake’s shoulders, thumbs smoothing back and forth gently; Blake’s hands are holding gently to her orange crop top, careful not to stray low enough to touch her bare skin. God, she’d forgotten that they’re still wearing the same clothes from the club.

“Right now, I feel kind of gross, though,” Yang says. Even saying it, she doesn’t move away from Blake. “Maybe we should take a shower. I mean -” Oh fuck. “Take showers! Like, you take a shower, and then I’ll take a shower after you’re done.”

Blake giggles, covering her mouth with one hand. _I’ll kiss her_ , Yang thinks determinedly. She could touch Blake’s wrist lightly, guide it away, press their lips together, soft and definite and complete. She’ll do it in a second. _Right now. This is the moment. Okay. I’m gonna do it. Really gonna do it._

The laughter peters out and now they’re just watching each other, close together, so close. Yang’s forehead is inches from hers - they’re breathing the same air -

“Finally!” Ruby yells from the doorway, and they split apart like shrapnel. “Wow, I really thought you guys would sleep all day! There’s pancakes in the kitchen, and Ren made them, so you _know_ they’re good!”

“Thanks, Ruby,” Yang says weakly, already feeling the absence of Blake’s hands on her back. She forces a grin for her sister’s benefit. Blake’s face is pink and she’s preoccupied with smoothing down her hair, as if she’ll be able to hide any physical evidence of the conversation they’d just been having. “We were just gonna get cleaned up and changed, but then we’d love to get some breakfast.”

If Ruby notices the ‘we’ statements, she doesn’t say anything.

“Cool! I’ll go tell Weiss you’re up. She’ll be psyched!”

She zooms up the stairs in a rush of rose petals. Yang glances back at Blake and they exchange one of those looks, the ones that Yang has loved since their Beacon days. So much emotion, so many jokes and comments, all packed into a single look. All her life, she’d longed for someone who understood her like that.

“I’ll meet you in the kitchen in fifteen?” Blake asks.

“Yup.” 

They get to their feet, and before she can lose her nerve, Yang presses a quick kiss to Blake’s forehead. When she reaches the foyer, she glances back over her shoulder, grinning; Blake’s frozen in place, smiling after her, open and honest and real.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been... much longer than i anticipated??? i am a shell of the girl i used to be when i thought i would finish this during the spring. fortunately RTX rejuvenated me and i will definitely not be waiting months to write the final chapter. (i also have some AUs in the works, including another chapter of my political AU!)
> 
> anyway pls enjoy, thanks for hangin in there with me all this time, xoxo

By the time Yang stumbles out of the shower and towels off her hair, she’s starting to feel the effects of the hangover fading away. Hot water makes everything better, she thinks, pulling on her orange tank top and black pants. It’s been three battle-weary days since they arrived in Atlas and she’s getting unbelievably sick of wearing the same clothes. They’d stopped by a boutique in Atlas as soon as they’d made it back from Mantle, on the brink of exhaustion and practically freezing to death. They’d grabbed warmer winter coats and a few other necessary pieces, but in their rush to seek shelter at the townhouse Winter had secured for them, they hadn’t spent much time downtown.

Yang stares at her reflection with mournful lavender eyes. She’s not exactly a luxury girl, but still, it would be _amazing_ to have some sweatpants right about now. 

Blake’s already in the kitchen when Yang gets downstairs, damp hair pulled over one shoulder. She looks cold and miserable, cutting up a banana pancake with intense focus. At the sound of Yang’s footsteps on the hardwood floor, she jolts and looks up, all defenses tumbling away. Her golden eyes widen and shine.

“Hey,” she says softly.

“Aren’t you cold?” Yang heads straight for the chocolate chip pancakes and piles them onto her plate. She doesn’t miss Blake self-consciously folding her arms across her chest; the white henley shirt she’s wearing is thin, definitely not enough to block out the icy wind rattling against the windowpanes. There’s central heating in the townhouse, but for Blake, used to Menagerie, this weather has to be brutal.

Blake’s lips curve at the edges, just slightly. “It’s fine. I’m really okay.”

“You look like an ice pop.” Yang slides into the seat across from Blake at the breakfast table, winking at her. Blake’s cheeks flood with light pink, pretty as a watercolor, and Yang might _actually_ die if she doesn’t kiss her again soon. “Look, we’re not doing anything today, right? Winter still has us sequestered away from the action?”

“Yeah.” Blake pushes her fork around her plate. “I know that’s probably driving you crazy, but honestly, I’m kind of grateful for the break. I just feel like…”

Maybe she could slide her hand across the table, reach for Blake’s hand. The distance separating them is barely anything. Her left hand rests delicately on the surface, fingernails drumming an uneasy pattern. Yang swallows hard, raising her eyes to Blake’s.

“You feel like…?”

“Like we deserve some time to rest.” Her voice is low, almost shy, but her eyes lock onto Yang’s and she can see how much she means it. They both smile, and the synchronization makes Yang’s heart skip a beat or two.

“You’re right. We _absolutely_ do. And that’s why I think…” _Don’t stop now. You got this. Nothing can possibly go wrong._ “I think we should do something today.”

“What did you have in mind?” Blake’s ears perk up.

“I mean, I think it’s totally necessary that we go back downtown and pick up some more clothes. We were in a rush the other day. And I don’t know about you, but I would absolutely kill for some decent pajamas.”

Blake laughs, surprised, the kind of sound that makes Yang want to cry -- because she’s here, she’s _here_ , she’s happy. Look at the two of them, alive despite everything. 

“Sure, that sounds nice,” Blake says, taking another bite of her pancakes. “I can go ask Weiss and Ruby when they want to leave. Apparently they’re undertaking some big organization project in the study upstairs. I walked by earlier and Weiss was going full Ice Queen, so I’m sure Ruby would love a chance to get out of here.”

Yang opens her mouth to make a joke, but it sticks in her throat. “Oh,” she finally chokes out. Nothing more. Blake looks at her quizzically.

“We can definitely invite the two of them if you want, but I… I guess I just thought this could be more of a… more of a thing for you and me.” 

Blake’s expression changes, and Yang is so wildly nervous that she can’t even force her brain to interpret the shift.

“But if you’d rather have everybody come, that’s totally cool! I was just thinking, you know… teammate bonding!” Yang lets out a short, incredibly forced laugh. _Maybe Salem will show up in the next two minutes and completely incinerate this house_ , she thinks. _That’d be a relief._

“Yang,” Blake says, and before Yang can take a breath, she reaches across the table and covers her hand with her own. Her voice is gentle, like coming home; her smile could melt the snow outside. “I’d love to go with you.”

*

_This is ridiculous_ , Yang thinks for probably the billionth time in the past twenty-four hours. _We_ literally _kissed last night._ Then, because she’s an idiot, she can’t wipe the grin off her face. _We kissed last night. Blake_ kissed _me._

“What are you smiling about?”

Yang startles, blonde hair whipping across her face, looking over at Blake. Back at the house, Yang had talked her into borrowing her new brown leather jacket because of its cozy fur lining; Blake has the hood pulled up and her lips are bright red from the cold, lifting into a smile. Walking into the cold wind with Blake reminds Yang almost painfully of Brunswick Farms, the hopelessness, the conversations they didn’t have -- couldn’t have. She pushes the thought away. Things are lighter now.

“The weather,” Yang says, deadpan, gesturing to the street in front of them. It’s nearly empty, snow drifting on the sidewalk and crunching under their boots. The occasional car rumbles by, but this seems to be the type of weather that even native Atlesians don’t want to venture out in. “Nice day, huh?”

Blake shudders as another gust of wind sweeps down the street. Even Yang, with her tropical body temperature, flinches against its sharpness. “I don’t know _how_ people live like this.”

“Store’s right up here though.” Yang points with one gloved hand. “What’re you gonna buy?”

“Probably warmer shirts,” Blake admits. Yang’s mind suddenly fills with an image of Blake in that black crop top and she pushes it away with herculean effort. “And pajamas probably aren’t a bad idea either, like you said.”

Yang pushes open the door to one of the many clothing stores that line the street, grinning at Blake over her shoulder. 

“Never underestimate the power of nice pajamas. Also, feel free to go crazy.” She pulls a card out of her coat pocket, waving it around. “Thanks, Winter!”

Blake laughs, shaking her head as she heads off to the Cold Weather Apparel section. “You are gonna be in so much trouble when she realizes how much you’ve been spending with that card.”

“Wrong,” she singsongs. “Weiss will get in trouble, and she’s already admitted that Winter’s gonna feel way too big-sister-guilty to be a hardass about it. Now pick out your fancy pajamas, Belladonna.”

*

This place is way too cold for Yang.

Obviously she’s thankful to have a place to sleep, all things considered; she would’ve taken a cave at this point, maybe a hole in the ground. The townhouse Winter found for them is pretty much perfect. There’s a well-stocked kitchen, a fireplace, and enough bedrooms for everyone. With the amount of people they’ve crammed into the space, it feels full, noisy, comfortable. 

After dinner, everyone crowds into the sitting room, too exhausted to speak. Weiss is perched on an ornate chaise lounge, preoccupied by her scroll; she’s unofficially taken over the responsibility of getting everyone settled in Atlas. Ruby’s balanced on the arm of the chaise, somehow still awake and chattering to a room of half-listening people. Blake is making her best effort to look interested, cross-legged the floor by the crackling fire, casting a long shadow across the carpeted floor. From the sofa, Yang tries to pretend she isn’t watching her.

“I still can’t believe you two went out in this weather,” Weiss says loftily when Ruby pauses for breath. “And to shop again? Seriously?”

“Our other clothes were pretty impractical,” Blake speaks up. She’s wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a white cotton t-shirt, arms bare. Yang blinks slowly, taking in the inky black spill of hair over one slim shoulder and the way she licks her lips to punctuate her sentence. It hits her like a flash of light -- their mouths brushing together, her fingers tracing Blake’s hipbones, heart crashing through her ribcage.

“Yang?” 

Whoops. All three of them are staring at her. Expressions range from confused (Ruby) to smug (Weiss) to happily flustered (Blake).

“What?” she asks stupidly.

“I _said_ , were those…” Weiss pauses, looking Yang up and down, searching for the right word. “... _garters_ totally necessary?” 

“I’m shocked, Weiss. Aren’t you supposed to be an expert on Atlesian fashion?”

“Hardly.” But she yawns, and Yang doesn’t miss the smile she hides behind one hand. Ruby launches into another story of the books she’s found in a bedroom upstairs and the modifications she’s already sketching out for Crescent Rose; ordinarily Yang would be into it, but she can’t tear her eyes away from Blake, the way she looks in the firelight. 

Vague, blurry memories are starting to resurface like champagne bubbles. _I’ve wanted you forever_ , she thinks she remembers saying. Her cheeks flush automatically. Kissing Blake is one thing, but saying that stuff to her… just the memory makes her stomach flip over. She can’t talk like that anymore, she _can’t_.

“Not that I’m not _totally_ fascinated by all your weapon upgrades, Ruby,” she says, stretching her arms high, tossing her head back. “But I think we’ve all been awake for about three days straight now-”

“Twenty-six hours,” Weiss corrects without looking up from her scroll. “I’m too exhausted to deal with your dramatic hyperbole.”

Yang shoots a sarcastic look in Blake’s direction; Blake laughs quietly, ducking her head so that a curtain of dark hair falls across her face. Something lightens inside Yang’s chest, pulls tight. She imagines twisting a strand of that hair around one finger, pulling close enough to feel her breathing, and has to swallow against her dry throat.

“Well, anyway, I need to sleep. And _not_ on the floor this time.” She meets Blake’s eyes, gold and shimmering, then looks away quickly. “Weiss, exactly how many bedrooms are in this place, anyway? I still haven’t even been up to the top floor.”

“Five!” Ruby squeals, answering on Weiss’s behalf. Her eyes go glassy at the luxurious thought of multiple furnished bedrooms. A far cry from the creepy houses with dusty floors they’ve been sleeping on for countless weeks. “One of them has a bathroom with a jacuzzi. An actual _jacuzzi!_ And they have window seats!”

“That’s great, Ruby.” On her way across the sitting room, Yang ruffles her little sister’s hair. “But I mean, bold of you to assume I care about anything right now that’s not a giant, fluffy bed.”

Weiss looks up; she’s set her scroll down and is twisting her hair into a long braid. “Yang, that outfit. Honestly. I can’t take you seriously when you’re walking around like that.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Blake pipes up. Weiss and Ruby exchange a quick glance that wasn’t met for Yang to see; she catches it anyway, tries not to grin.

“I thought the point was for you to buy something warmer today. Not…” Weiss’s eyes narrow, scanning the tan jumpsuit attached to tall boots with golden garter straps. “ _That_.”

Yang shrugs. “Who cares? I bought a fur coat the other day. If I get cold enough, I’ll put it on. Plus I bought pajamas.”

“Aww…” Ruby’s face falls. “I miss comfy pajamas.”

“I picked up some for you. They’re in the bag in the kitchen.” Yang gestures over her shoulder and Ruby takes off, a rush of rose petals, vanishing into thin air. The remaining three head upstairs in search of bedrooms.

Weiss swings open the first door on their right, pausing in the doorway to glance back at them. “Promise me you’ll actually sleep in beds tonight, okay? The sight of you on that hardwood floor… it was tragic.”

“Trust me,” Blake says emphatically. “I have _no_ intention of sleeping like that again unless I absolutely have to. I’m gonna find the nicest king size bed in this place and sleep for ten hours.”

“That’s my girl,” Yang blurts out. 

Weiss’s eyebrows lift. Mercifully, she doesn’t say a word, just disappears into the bedroom and closes the door with a faint _click_.

Slowly slowly slowly, Yang turns to look at Blake, trying to pretend like her face isn’t burning. Maybe this is all fine. _I mean, she_ kissed _me,_ Yang repeats inside her head for the millionth time. It still feels like a fever dream. Blake’s a beautiful hallucination.

“Goodnight, Yang,” she says, the very faintest note of teasing in her voice, and they lock eyes. Blake’s are golden fire, her face aglow with the most genuine smile Yang’s seen from her in ages. She’s stone, rooted to the spot, watching as Blake tosses her hair and lets it waterfall down her back, disappearing into a bedroom down the hall.

*

Yang’s hovering on the edge of a dream when a creaking jolts her awake. 

She blinks once, twice, trying to focus over the kickdrum pounding of her heart -- a fuzzy shadow forms in the dark doorway. Her fingers clench against the blue woven quilt, trying to wake her brain up faster, prepare herself for the next battle. 

Adam turned her into this, she thinks almost bitterly. He’s dead, he’s gone, but now he can haunt her. She hasn’t forgotten anything - the fight, the molten terror in her chest, the metallic taste of adrenaline in her mouth, the feel of the blade sinking into Adam’s back. 

“It’s just me,” a voice says quickly, satin soft. Yang’s grip on the quilt slackens, lips parting in surprise. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Yang’s voice comes out sleep-raspy and weaker than she’d like. She rubs her eyes, willing Blake into focus. 

“Waking you up.”

“It’s no big deal. Are you okay?” The silence is heavy, a fog of tension hovering, and it stretches on. Yang can almost hear her breathing. “Blake, you -- come on in. Don’t just stand there in the dark. You can come in.”

Yang pushes one of the curtains aside and moonlight pools on the floor, a river of silver; when Blake steps hesitantly into the light, her hands clasp in front of her body, ears drooping. 

“Are you…” Yang doesn’t want to sound like an idiot repeating herself, especially since she knows the answer, but Blake doesn’t say anything and now she has no choice but to fill the crackling silence with _something_. “I mean, is everything okay?”

The unspoken _no_ hangs between them. Blake steps around it gracefully, looking at up at Yang with wide, tired eyes. “I - I feel so stupid telling you this, but I just… I can’t sleep.”

Yang tilts her head sympathetically. “What, all this luxury isn’t good enough for you?”

It snaps the tension just slightly - they both grin, Blake looking down, rubbing her arm self-consciously with one hand. She’s wearing one of the pajama sets they’d purchased earlier; Yang had seen it on the hanger, but on Blake it’s… different. Pale lilac cotton, light against her skin, long sleeves and pants that look feather-soft to the touch. She looks impossibly tiny without her high-heeled boots. Yang takes a breath watching her, and it comes out shaky.

“This place is just… cold,” Blake admits, walking closer. Her voice is so different, so small, all of her earlier bravado vanished like smoke. The hardwood floor creaks under her bare feet. Yang swings her legs over the side of the bed. “And every time I close my eyes, I…”

Yang flinches. Of course. Of course he would haunt her too.

“I… I don’t know.” Blake licks her lips, eyes downcast. “I don’t know if I can sleep alone anymore.”

Yang’s heart cracks open, blood-red ribbons spilling along the floor, a sob buried somewhere beneath her ribcage. _Baby,_ she thinks but doesn’t say. _Come here._

“I didn’t want to wake you up, but I just…” Blake’s voice is a constricted whisper. She watches Yang like she’s glass, like she could shatter at the slightest word. Maybe she could. “Would it be okay if I slept in here? I could bring my blankets and stay on the floor.”

Surprise gets the better of her; Yang laughs, quiet and automatic, shaking her head, hair tumbling around her shoulders. “Those pajamas look great on you, y’know.”

Blake’s eyebrows lift. “Thanks?”

Yang spreads her arms, still laughing, and Blake walks to her. Her lips quirk up at the edges. The tension is like dust in the air, blown away the second Yang touches her.

“Of course you can sleep here,” Yang says. Her mouth is suddenly dry; she swallows hard. Blake’s so close, hair still damp from the shower and smelling like borrowed shampoo, sandalwood and tangelo and amber. “But not on the floor, okay? That’s a little dramatic.”

Blake’s fingertips are soft, gentle, pressing against Yang’s spine with a kind of hesitation, like she’s not sure this is really allowed. It’s different than the way they’d held each other days ago, when they knelt on the ground, skin damp from the spray of the waterfall. There was an urgency there, words to choke out. Blake’s fears are quieter now; Yang can sense them falling away. 

“I don’t want to bother you,” she says quietly, lips brushing golden hair. Yang’s arms tighten around her waist. 

“You won’t be. Look how huge this bed is. I’ve never had a bed this big in my entire life.”

Blake’s still for another moment, muscles tensed like she might need to run, shivering with something Yang doesn’t understand. Adrenaline, or maybe fear. A wave of protectiveness falls over her, so strong it’s almost overpowering; she sinks back onto the bed, pulling Blake into her lap.

“I still think about it too,” Yang admits, tugging at the quilt until it covers them both. She slides a hand up Blake’s back, rubbing slow circles, steadily until she feels her muscles gradually start to relax. “But you’re going to… it’s gonna go away.”

Blake turns her head, pressing her face against Yang’s shoulder, curling close. Her lips brush Yang’s collarbone so she feels her words more than she hears them: _are you sure?_

“I’m sure.” Yang shifts to lean against the pillows and Blake moves with her automatically, a mirror image, sliding between her and the wall. They break apart, getting situated with blankets and pillows, and Yang immediately misses her warmth. “If you have a nightmare or something, you can wake me up, okay?”

Blake’s face is barely visible in the moonlight, but Yang can see her lips quirk into a smile as she tugs a goosefeather pillow under her head. “Okay.”

Yang swallows hard, looking down at her. The words get stuck. She thinks of Blake at Beacon, how she hardly ever smiled. Curled into her bottom bunk with a book in her lap. Riding on Yang’s bike, arms around her waist. Crouching by the waterfall, hair damp from the mist, fingernails digging into Yang’s back while she sobbed. _I love you_ , she thinks, and she thinks, and she thinks.

Outside, the sky is a calm azure, city lights like pinpricks in the dark, glimmering. Everything is cold, blue and silver, still. Not for the first time, it occurs to Yang that she could be anywhere in the world and still feel at home with Blake tucked next to her.

She thinks of thunderstorm nights, of sunsets through glass houses, of starlight shining bright in Blake’s eyes as she smiles. _Maybe I’ve known you in other lives_ , she thinks, absently stroking Blake’s hair, both of them on the edge of sleep. _Maybe I loved you forever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you find the weight of memory reference, you win a prize!!
> 
> feel free to message me on tumblr, i'm blakebellafuckingdonna and i love you! <3

**Author's Note:**

> fic title comes from "waking up slow" by gabrielle aplin :)  
> i'm [ blakebellafuckingdonna](http://www.blakebellafuckingdonna.tumblr.com) on tumblr, so feel free to drop by and say hi! i love you all for reading. more coming soon.  
> xoxo gossip halcyonlight


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